The Adventure of Sydney Pageant
by pkmndaisuki
Summary: A body is found in a community college, but something's amiss. Can the World's Only Consulting Detective and his ex-army doctor colleague solve the case alone? Or will they ask for a little help from one of the students? Updates Thursdays.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: Sherlock series belong to BBC, Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss. Sherlock and other canon characters belong to Arthur Conan Doyle. Sydney et al belong to me. Sydney herself is (loosely) based on Sidney Paget, the illustrator for the origial Sherlock Holmes stories.

**Ratings/Warnings**: Gen, T. A little gory, assumed long age difference romance, mild language.

**Summary**: Bringing back the illustrations from the original publications into the modern day.

**A/N**: I don't live in England. I'm American. Try as I might, I may not get all the terminology right, and I certainly won't get any geography right. Thus, with locations and such, I'm going to either b.s. something together, or be as vague as possible. So, please don't be nitpicky, but if you decide to be, please be nice about it! Thanks in advance!

PROLOGUE [think 'pre-title sequence hook']

_Sitting bolt upright. Staring ahead, seems lost in thought. Barely moves. Does he know something? Clutching an umbrella in his hands, right over left. But it's a nice day out. Is he waiting for rain? Damn, I messed up the hairline, too far down. That's better. Oops, the nose goes a little farther out. And the ears are too small. At least he makes for a good model. _

The girl continued to sketch the mysterious man on the bench on the campus grounds, staring at nothing. It was turning out wonderfully. Lots of large areas for shading due to his dark attire, great lighting since it wasn't overcast for once, and he was sitting still.

_A lot better than the poor sods we get in class, anyway._

Once she finished drawing him, she started on the background. A few trees were in the area, each planted a few feet apart. Then she sketched the other buildings across the pathways housing the science and botany halls. She finished with the approrpriate shading from the trees and the man on the bench. She gave it a quick sign in the bottom right corner and smiled to herself, pleased with the result. She was about to leave when she heard yelling from the "den" as it was usually called, an open large room by the arts wing that theatre students used to practice shouting scenes without the other classes thinking someone was being murdered. Sydney left her sketch pad and pencil and walked over gingerly to the den. By the time she reached it, the yelling had stopped (she hadn't been able to make out any of it). When she peered in through the window, her breath stopped.

There really had been a murder in the den.


	2. Chapter 1

**The Adventure of Sydney Pageant**

The phone rang at the front at Scotland Yard, Sergeant Sally Donovan briefly manning the line.

"Hello? Scotland Yard," she introduced. Her eyes started to widen, and she clutched the phone in both hands. "Whoa, slow down. What happened?" A long pause ensued as the person on the other line described what they'd found. Donovan straightened her face from its previously shocked form. "We'll be on our way," she remarked, hanging up the phone. She dashed into Detective Inspector Lestrade's office. "Sir! There's been a murder at a community college. A messy one, too, from the witness' account," she informed him. Without a moment's hesitation, Lestrade gathered his badge, notepad, mobile, sidearm and coat.

"Let's hurry," was all he said and the police rushed to the scene.

Outside the den, the girl was still shaking her head in disbelief, shocked that something like this could really happen at her school. Sure, she'd seen a horror film or two, but that's all they were, right? Fiction? Murders like those couldn't happen anywhere near her, could they? Obviously, they could. She was expressly relieved when the police arrived at the scene.

"In there... someone's dead... blood... lots of it," she stammered.

"Right, then, let's have a look," Lestrade said, peering into the den window as she herself had done minutes before. He looked back and forth at the apparent corpse and his face twisted into a knot. He knew this was a tricky one. Lestrade sighed and pulled out his mobile. He began to text someone.

"You really think this requires the freak's help?" Donovan asked incredulously of her superior. Lestrade gave her an annoyed look as he hit 'send' on his phone.

"His name is 'Sherlock,' and, yes, I believe we do," he said rather frankly.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, your mobile buzzed!" John Watson called from the sitting room. Sherlock Holmes himself was busy with yet another experiment in the kitchen, this time centering around the effects of household cleaners on bloodstains. He'd tell John later that he'd "borrowed" one of his lesser-worn jumpers for the test.<p>

"Pick it up for me. Who and what?" Sherlock asked staring intently at his work.

_Murder at a community college. Victim doesn't look normal. Need your help with this one. -Lestrade_

"It's from Lestrade. Says there's been a murder at a community college. The victim looks funny, so he wants you to have a look," John answered.

"Did he actually say that it looks funny?" Sherlock queried doubtfully.

"No, I was just summarising."

"Next time, word for word," Sherlock requested, whipping his coat and scarf on. "Ask for the address. Let's go."

* * *

><p>"Say, didn't get your name," Lestrade said to the girl as he walked her to her belongings.<p>

"Sydney. Sydney Pageant."

"Nice to meet you, Sydney. Lestrade. Wish we could've met under better circumstances, but I wish that of all witnesses I meet," Lestrade told her, offering to shake her hand. She gingerly took it and shook once. The two strode over to her things when she saw a couple things were amiss: The man with the umbrella was gone, and, worst of all...

"Someone doodled on my drawing!" Sydney cried in disbelief. She couldn't believe it, not only was she the sole witness to the aftermath of a crime, but her art suffered as well. "Why would anyone do that?" she asked no one in particular as she clutched the now ruined sketch to her chest.

"May I see it?" Lestrade asked her, thinking the defilement might link to the crime somehow. Sydney, red in the face from becoming so upset, turned her pad around to see that someone had indeed scribbled all over the picture in red pen in a long continuous line. The image could still be made out, but the picture was hardly presentable anymore.

"I worked so hard on it, too. I just finished it when I heard the commotion in the den," the saddened artist explained. Lestrade took notice of the man on the bench she drew.

"Who is the model?"

"I don't know. I just saw him sit down curiously with his umbrella. Thought it was an interesting and funny sight, so I started sketching. Boy, did he keep still. It was like he was waiting for something..."

Lestrade was about to comment when Donovan called from the scene.

"Detective-Inspector! The freak's here!" she cried.

Lestrade sighed, hoping one day she'd stop calling him that, and led Sydney back to the crime scene. Once they arrived, they noticed their numbers increased by two men. One was a few inches shorter than Sydney was, but not by too much. Somewhat stocky, beige-ish short hair, haggard face and dressed very plainly in his cable knit jumper. The other was a tall man, very pale and very thin. Dark hair and the most brilliant eyes she'd ever seen. Oddly shaped, bright blue-grey, but perfectly unique. She recognized the two right away.

"Dr. John Watson and Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes, I presume?" she asked. The two held different expressions, the shorter one of shock, the taller just raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I'm John. He's Sherlock. How did you know?" the shorter one now known as John asked.

"I've glanced at your blog, Doctor. Saw the photographs you posted of you two in response to a case of mistaken identity," she replied.

"There's a picture of me online?" Sherlock asked, slightly turning his head toward his flatmate.

"Plenty," Sydney answered for John. "You have quite a fan base." Sherlock cringed at the word "fan base." She remembered reading about "The Great Game" and how that psycho called himself Sherlock's fan. "Er, the good kind," she added in response.

"Ah," was all Sherlock said. He then turned to the window of the den. He gave the body a quick glance-over and then opened the door. He went over and crouched next to the dead young man.

_Confirmed: no pulse. Definitely dead. 5 feet 11 inches tall. Early to mid twenties. Around 200 pounds weight. Right-handed. Bleeding from chest... No. From behind._ Sherlock gently propped the corpse up a little to look at his back. _No. No wound on his back. It's clean._ He placed the body back in its original state. _The blood is not his. But why would there be so much? The culprit must have either injured himself or planted the blood on the victim. The victim is freshly dead, though. But the cause of death..._ Sherlock beckoned for John to join him in the den. "What do you make of this?" he asked his friend.

"Well, the blood's not his. No apparent wounds for it to have come and it's only on his front."

"Good. How did he die, then?" John stared at the dead man's face intently. The eyes looked unfocused and shocked.

"Head trauma?" John guessed.

"Close, but no. Shock. Heart trauma. Come now, man, you're a _doctor_.," Sherlock affirmed.

"Oh. Well, I don't get everything right. Neither do you for that matter-"

"There will be a head wound, but that was after the fact. He hit his head on something as he fell. Something that is no longer here." John sighed, a little exasperated.

"So, how does that point us toward the culprit?"

"The blood. It's certainly human blood, but where could someone have gotten this much on short notice? There's at least a pint of it here." Sherlock studied the area closely for an answer.

"You could try the forensic's freezer in the next building over," Sydney offered, not being able to help but overhear their conversation. "I think they have a mini blood bank for labs. Some teachers volunteer to give about a pint for testing purposes. It's also where they keep frozen body parts for experiments. Brains, eyeballs, the like." Sherlock's eyes twinkled a little as she spoke. John sighed, knowing exactly where his flatmate's mind was going.

* * *

><p>In the forensic's freezer, Sherlock darted for the area with the blood bags. Then he turned to the professor that had let them in.<p>

"Anyone missing?" he asked.

"Looks like there's one gone. The one volunteered by the theatre professor, Prof. Baker. He's an A-positive."

"Thank you, professor, that's all I need to know."

"Is the theatre professor in today?" Sherlock asked the tag-along student.

"No, his class meets tomorrow," Sydney replied to the consulting detective.

"And how do you know that?" John asked her.

"She attends his class. Didn't you see her face as the professor's name was mentioned? She was taken aback, appalled that he could possibly be involved. She knows him, therefore, has his class. Obvious," Sherlock concluded.

The three walked back over to the police standing by the den.

"Well, Sherlock? Any luck?" Lestrade asked.

"A fair amount information has presented itself, yes. No such thing as luck. In any case, John and I'll be returning tomorrow. In the meantime, I'd suggest that your people examine the body for any heart conditions and tool marks on the left side of the back of his head."

"Right. See you later then."

"Good day, Lestrade."

"Oh, before I go, Miss Sydney, any way we could get your mobile number? We may have to call for you again during this case." Sydney pulled her mobile from her pocket and showed it to the detective inspector. He jotted down the number onto his notepad. "Thanks. Take care."

As soon as the police were out of sight, Sherlock glanced at her sketch. He then snatched it from her hands and closely examined it, staring at the man on the bench with the umbrella. He scowled.

"Excuse me, that's _mine_," Sydney protested. "If you don't like it, give it back."

"Now, what was _he_ doing here?" Sherlock quietly mused to himself.

"Who is it, Sherlock?" John asked. Sherlock turned his head and grimaced.

"Mycroft."

"Mycroft? Are you sure?" John had a puzzled look to him.

"No doubt. The slight fullness to his cheeks, the crook of his nose, the depth of his hairline, the height, his umbrella, even. It's him. I'd recognize my brother anywhere." Sherlock concluded, handing the pad back to Sydney. "To my chagrin, this is a nice picture. It's a shame someone defiled it."

"Um, thanks. So, you really do have a brother?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Why?" Sydney shuffled her foot a bit and looked a bit unsure of whether she should answer, but decided to anyway.

"A friend of mine, my roommate, actually, is a part of a forum about you, and there's a rather ongoing debate on whether you have a brother or not. She believes you do, even though there's no photographic proof." Sherlock's gaze fell to nowhere in particular. he sighed slightly.

"It's for the best. He's the government. A photo of him would put him in danger. It's better the ambiguity remain," Sherlock advised in a low voice. Sydney nodded in agreement. Sherlock then returned to his usual aloof visage, grabbed her mobile and began typing into it.

"What are you doing? Are you some kind of kleptomaniac?" Sydney demanded.

"Kleptomaniac, that's a new one. No, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Anyway, here's your mobile back. I've taken the liberty of adding my number to your contacts." Sydney stared at him in disbelief.

"What? Why?"

"In case anything else happens, you are to let me know. Text, preferably." Sydney just stood there, completely bewildered by this strange yet uniquely beautiful man.

"Right. Shall I take a picture of you then? A face to the name," Sydney offered.

"Fine," was all he said and faced her with a slight smirk. Sydney pushed a button on the side of her phone, tapped the screen until it made a click.

"Thanks. Farewell." Sydney then turned and headed back to her dormitory.

John just stood there, grimacing at Sherlock. Sherlock glanced right back, straight faced and simply asked "What?"

"You just gave her your number."

"Yes, for the purpose of the case."

"You let her take your photograph."

"For her contacts."

"For God's sake, you _posed_ for it!"

"I have a narcissistic streak, you should know this. And?"

"I have a feeling she's got the wrong idea. God, she has to be ten years younger than us _at least_," John said, running his hand over his head in exasperation. Sherlock just stared at him. "Do you not get what I'm saying?"

"No."

_Really, o ye of the Most Observant Eyes in All the Land?_ "It looked like you _like_ her and were coming onto her!" John whispered sternly. Sherlock began walking away towards the street to hail a cab.

"That wasn't my intent whatsoever. You want I should apologise?"

"Yes! First thing you do when you doubtlessly run into her tomorrow."

"Fine."

**Post-read A/N**: What think so far? Again. I admit some of the writing may seem a little odd, spellings and such, since I'm American. Trying to keep straight what's supposed to be a 'z' and what's an 's' is gonna be rough, as is some of the terminology. I confess that only after watching this series did I finally figure out what a "jumper" was. ^_^;;

Just to put your thoughts to rest, I will emphatically state I am NOT in any way shape or form planning on ANY pairings actually coming to fruition. I may HINT at a few, but either I'll shut it down near immediately like I just did for Sherlock and Sydney, or I'll just leave it as just a hint. (There is only one exception to this, and it's entirely one-sided and it doesn't play out as one might think it would.)


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N:** The Sherlock Holmes series belongs to ACD. Sherlock series belongs to Moffat and Gatiss. All original characters and story belong to me. Kind of a short one, this time. Just a bit of intro-babble.

Sydney returned to her dorm with a look of utter confusion.

_Wow. Not only did I really just meet the famed Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, but I even got Sherlock's _number_. Okay, so it was kind of forced onto my phone by him. No, I didn't ask for it, but I got it anyway. God, Olivia's gonna be jealous. ...This is going to be hilarious._

She walked inside to see her roommate hunched in front of her laptop, as usual. She mused to herself that Olivia's complexion seemed similar to that of the officer called "Donovan." Coarse curly hair pulled back into a bun with a few loose strands here and there, thick plastic framed glasses kept on her face only by how scrunched up her nose was. She was typing madly, making scoffing noises as she went.

"What's this, another flame war over what color shorts he wears?" Sydney asked sarcastically. Olivia sat bolt upright and nearly fell out of her chair, her glasses balanced on the tip of her nose.

"Syd! Didn't hear you come in! And, don't joke about stuff like that. There've been at least fourteen of those these past two months that I've had to put out!" she retorted quite seriously. Sydney couldn't help but giggle. "Anyway, no, this time the class board is going bonkers! SH was spotted here! At the school!"

"I know." Olivia blinked as she readjusted her glasses.

"How?" she asked.

"Because I met him. And the doctor." Sydney started counting down from five in her head. Olivia's eyes slowly widened and her mouth began to hang agape.

"What." said she, her voice climbing an octave and a half higher than usual.

"Want proof? I got his number," Sydney said, holding out her mobile to her. Olivia started to grimace.

"Oh, sure, and just about everyone who's ever been to Sherlock's site, too." She whirled back to her computer, hunched over again, and resumed typing. Sydney began to smile.

"I don't think you understand. He actually gave me his number. Personally." Olivia slowed her typing. "And, I got his photograph." She sat up again and stopped typing entirely. "_Posed_, even." She got up and grabbed her roommate's mobile. She couldn't believe her eyes. There on her roommate's screen, her one friend that wasn't part of her Sherlock forum, her one friend that didn't squeal every time Dr. Watson's blog updated, had a photograph. Of Sherlock himself. _Smiling for the camera_.

"You lucky bitch," said she, grinning.

"I know," Sydney replied, smiling as well. "Knew you'd say that."

"I can't belive you got him to pose for you! Or that you even got the photograph in the first place! _Please_ let me post this!" Olivia begged. Sydney scowled.

"Absolutely not. The only one I'm showing this to is you. Besides, he wasn't here to sign autographs, Olivia. A student is dead."

* * *

><p>"221b Baker Street," John told the cabbie as he and Sherlock entered. The two were heading home after their strange encounter at the community college.<p>

"You don't think it was the theatre teacher, do you?" John asked Sherlock, who was staring out the window.

"No. But someone must want the police to think so. Someone has something against that Professor Baker. Someone with access to the school's sample blood bank..." he started, trying to come up with a chain of events in his head. John shook his head at the last statement.

"From what I gather from Sydney's comment, anyone can get in there," he explained.

"Right. But, can anyone get in there without expressed permission?"

* * *

><p>"So, if SH is here, then that means that something's weird about this one, huh?" Olivia asked. Sydney nodded her head.<p>

"Yeah. Something about blood being where it shouldn't, or something. The blood was also from Professor Baker's donation for the forensic's lab." Olivia's eyes got wide.

"Professor Baker? Your theatre professor? You're kidding!" she declared. Sydney shook her head quickly.

"It was missing from the bank. I don't think he did it, but someone must want us to think that." Olivia motioned like she agreed. She stood up from her chair and faced Sydney.

"So, what's the plan, Syd? You gonna do a bit of sleuthing?" Sydney looked at her incredulously.

"Ah, no. That's _their_ job. I'm just a student..."

"That the police want to contact if anything else happens and that SH wants to have call him if something else happens," Olivia pointed out. Sydney sighed.

"Well, Sherlock figured out I'm in Baker's class, so we're going to wait until tomorrow to start figuring anything else out."

"So, what, is he going to pop over to your class, say hello, and try to arrest the professor?"

"I hope not. To any of that. I don't know what I'd do if I saw him tomorrow. Especially if he just decided to barge into my class!"

* * *

><p>"You're actually calling someone?" John asked Sherlock confused as the latter put his mobile up to his ear.<p>

"Yes, now shh!" Sherlock replied hurriedly. He then inhaled a bit as he seemed to reach someone. ""Hello, Mycroft, never took you as one for school reunions." Silence filled the flat as Mycroft replied. "Really? So what were you doing at a college around 1:45 pm, _dear_ brother?" Another pause. "No, I didn't see you, but someone else did and she drew a picture of you, a rather accurate one, and for once I _don't_ mean that patronizingly." Silence again, a bit longer than the previous. "Well, someone scribbled on it in red pen in a continuous line. That wouldn't have been _your_ doing, would it? It's not like she knew who you were. She only drew you because you looked absolutely ridiculous sitting in the sunlight clutching your brolly." A smaller pause this time. "No, I was paraphrasing." Sherlock listened intently to his older brother's answer.

His face twisted into a grimace. "I thought so. Well, at some point you ought to apologise. She looked rather devastated that someone would _dare_ to defile her drawing." Sherlock paused again, briefly. "Of _course_ you'll have to see her in person! You don't expect me to just pick her up and bring her to you, do you? Because if you do, I won't. I'm in the middle of a case." Sherlock paused one last time. "I'll tell you about it later. Nice chatting with you. Bye." He hit the "end" key on his phone as hard as he could with his thumb. He sighed and plopped down across his couch.

"It's hard times being a sibling, huh, Sherlock?" John offered. Sherlock chuckled a little.

"Quite."


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:** The Sherlock Holmes series belongs to ACD. Sherlock series belongs to Moffat and Gatiss. All original characters and story belong to me with the exception of Zoey McCarron who belongs to R. K. Sprague (used with permission).

"Everyone, we have a new student transferring into our class. Plese, tell us a bit about yourself, now that everyone else is here?" the art professor beckoned. The new girl stood up. She had blonde hair, quite a bit lighter than Sydney's own and not as much reddish tone to it, fair skin and blue eyes covered by a pair of glasses. She was also fairly short compared to Sydney.

"My name is Zoey McCarron. I'm from America," she explained. The class' eyes widened at this fact, impressed with her. However, it seemed Zoey interpreted that as shock, so she immediately sat back down, embarrassed. For the rest of the life drawing class, everyone was silent.

"All right?" Sydney greeted Zoey after class.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just embarrassed," Zoey replied. Sydney giggled a bit.

"While that's good to know, we often use 'all right' as a form of greeting here. Kind of like how Americans use 'what's up,' I think," Sydney explained. Zoey looked down.

"Sorry." Sydney shook her head.

"No, no, it's fine. Completely understandable. No need to apoligise." Zoey looked back up and smiled slightly. "My name's Sydney. Sydney Pageant. Syd, for short, if you like." Sydney offered her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Syd. I'm Zoey. You can call me 'Zo' if you want. Most my friends back home did." The two new friends shook hands. They started walking out of the art building together.

"So, what class do you have next?" Zoey asked of her new friend. Syd grimaced, realizing what was coming up.

"Theatre," she grumbled. Zoey looked a bit confused.

"What's with the face? I thought those classes were fun. Is the professor a weirdo, or your classmates stupid, or what?" Zoey asked. Sydney chuckled a little.

"No, no, nothing to do with them. It's just... we might have a _guest_ in our class today." Syd explained.

"A guest? Like another theatre professor?" Sydney shook her head.

"I wish. No, he's an outsider. Ever hear of Sherlock Holmes?" Zoey raised an eyebrow.

"No. I haven't. Who is he?" Sydney stopped dead in her tracks. She looked somewhat shocked and stared Zoey right in the eye.

"You mean to tell me you have no idea who Sherlock Holmes is. Really?" Zoey nodded her head, confirming Sydney's question. "Wow. Well, then again, I have no idea how well known the guy is outside of the UK. Well, he's a detective who sometimes works with the police."

"A P.I.?"

"No, something else. Consulting Detective. He explains it a bit on his website, 'The Science of Deduction.'"

"Cool! I'll have to check it out. But, what's a 'consulting detective' doing visiting your class?"

"Were you here yesterday?"

"Only in the morning. I'm job hunting in the afternoon. Why?"

"I don't mean to scare you or anything, and this is doesn't normally happen, in fact it's the first time this has happened in recent history, I mean this is a nice school, and-" Sydney rambled. Zoey stopped her.

"Okay, I get it. What happened that's so bad that you're being visited by a guy that works with the police?" Zoey started to look annoyed that Sydney didn't answer right away. Sydney sighed.

"There was a murder. I was a witness to the aftermath," she explained quietly. Zoey's eyes went wide.

"Yikes," was all she said.

"Yeah. I guess I'm not as shaken as I was before since I know it's going to be taken care of, and that I can actually help somehow or another. Anyway, I'd better get going. Meet back here for lunch?" Sydney offered. Zoey smiled.

"Yeah, sure! And, I'm guessing you want me to keep quiet about this?" Sydney nodded. "Okay, sure thing. Catch you after class, then! See ya, Syd!"

"Bye, Zo!"

* * *

><p><em>Huh. He's not here yet. Good. Maybe we can get in some dress rehearsal without him seeing. I just hope everyone else remembers their lines this time. Especially the guy playing John,<em> Sydney thought to herself as she entered the auditorium.

"Okay, looks like everyone's here," Prof. Baker said to his class. "I just want to start off by saying how proud I am of you. When you told me you wanted to do a play based on a blog entry, I was a little... shocked, to say the least. When I actually got around to reading it, I understood why you did. So, I let you try. I let you create a script based on what little information you had, do the costuming and casting all on your own. You've proved to me that you can create theatre as well as act it. Well done."

The other students beamed at this congratulation.

"Now, then, let's get our last rehearsal of 'A Study in Pink' started!"

"A Study in what?" a baritone voice called from the doorway. The class stopped dead, staring in awe at the visitor. Sydney was horrified.

_Oh, no. Not now! And we were just about to get in costume..._

"Oh, hello. The class wanted to do a play based on the blog of Dr. Watson for their own amusement. Since I didn't have anything else for them to do, and since this is a rather advanced class, I decided to let them. I'm Kevin Baker, the theatre professor," Prof. Baker said, offering to shake the visitor's hand.

"I know who you are, Professor. While I'm not really one for shaking hands, I do offer my salutations. My name is Sherlock Holmes, the one who's story you're telling."

The students stood agape. The professor froze in astonishment. Sydney rolled her eyes.

_Does he really have to be so dramatic?_

"Well, it's very nice to finally meet you, Mr. Holmes! My students have noting but praise for you and your friend, Dr. Watson," Professor Baker said. Sherlock nodded his thanks. "We were actually about to start up a dress rehearsal of our play. Would you like to see?"

"It would be interesting," Sherlock mused. "Unfortunately, I haven't the time. I'm on a case, you see. One that involves you, oddly enough, professor." Professor Baker stared at Sherlock quizzically.

"Me? Why me?"

"Why indeed? Tell me, is there anyone on staff who might have anything against you?" Professor Baker shook his head.

"Not that I know of, why?" Sherlock looked rather intently at him, showing his seriousness.

"Someone stole your blood sample from the forensics laboratory and used it as a cover to the method of a young man's murder," Sherlock explained. The students' faces grew horrified. Sydney grimaced.

_Is this really the time for that? Honestly._

"I... I don't understand. Why would anyone do that? I mean, sure I have an uncommon blood type, but..." Sherlock interrupted him.

"Uncommon? What is your blood type?"

"O, sir. O negative."

Sherlock smiled. His eyes started to glint.

"Is that so?" The professor nodded. "Hum. This just made things more interesting... Miss Pageant?" Sherlock asked. Sydney looked up at him with a most unamused look. The students all turned to her, wondering how Sherlock knew her name.

"If you want me tagging along, I will, but first I'd like to make sure my costurme for the play works. Won't take but a minute." Sherlock looked to her incredulously.

"Is this your way of trying to stall me?" Sherlock asked.

"Look, we've been looking forward to this dress rehearsal for weeks now, and my costume was just finished today. I want to make sure it works before I leave for who knows how long." Sherlock sighed then nodded.

"Very well. Please do not take too long. We have a liar to capture." With that, Sydney disappeared backstage to prepare. Professor Baker then turned to Sherlock.

"You do realise that she's playing you, right?"

* * *

><p><em>Let's see... The shirt is wide enough to hide my gender, not that it's that difficult anyway. The trousers are cut properly, as is the coat. Everything fits.<em> Sydney examined her outfit in the lighted mirror backstage. She spun around once to test the coat. It swirled just as his did. She smirked. Then suddenly stopped, realising just how similar her smirk looked to his. _Guess I'm better at imitation than I thought._ She then glanced at the makeup on the counter. _Eh, may as well try it. I've already got the costume on, faster than I anticipated, as well._

She first put her hair into a net so it wouldn't get caked with makeup. She then took up the foundation. It was a pale near-ivory color that was remarkably similar to Sherlock's skin, she noticed, now that she's seen him up close. Not ghastly pale, but still paler than most people. She smeared the foundation all over her face, ears, and neck. She then reached for the blush.

It was again an ivory tone, but a bit more ashen. This was used to accentuate her cheekbones as his were. Once she was finished, she took some pink lipgloss and applied it to her lips. _They are a pretty vibrant pink,_ she mused to herself. Her makeup complete, she turned to a dark curly wig that hung on the corner of the mirror. She put the wig on over her own head. It fit perfectly. After a few minor adjustments to it, she put some of the foundation on her hands and arms up to mid forearm to further the effect. When she looked back into the mirror, she was a little taken aback. She'd done it.

She'd become Sherlock Holmes.

She then decided to do a quick rundown of some of her lines, attempting to imitate him as best as she could.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221b Baker Street," she said in her best low-pitched voice, oddly similar to Sherlock's own. Though it wasn't a perfect imitation, it was rather close for someone her gender.

"Good to know, Mr. Holmes," a voice from behind Sydney remarked. Sydney whipped around, trying to see who it was, vaguely recognising the voice.

Then, it all faded to black.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Two chapters today to make up for lost time. The Sherlock Holmes series belongs to ACD. Sherlock series belongs to Moffat and Gatiss. All original characters and story belong to me.

"She said it wouldn't take long," Sherlock said impatiently.

"Well, you know how girls are with their primping and all. She's probably putting on her makeup and wig, too," Professor Baker assured Sherlock. Sherlock simply shook his head.

"I can't believe _she's_ playing_ me_. Why?"

"'Cause she's fairly tall and thin," one student chimed in.

"And pale," another added.

"And she's good at doing voices," a third affirmed. Sherlock turned to them, confused.

"Voices?"

"Yeah, she's good at imitating people. Really good. If you weren't looking close enough, or didn't know her personally, you'd swear she was a bloke!"

* * *

><p><em>Okay, that was probably the weirdest thing to have happen to me in a while...<em> Sydney thought as she roused herself into conciousness. She found it hard to move, since she was sitting bound to a chair. As she looked about, the room she was in was completely bare. Concrete. The only way in or out, supposedly, was one door on the other side of the room.

A door whose knob was turning.

Sydney mentally braced herself for who was to enter the room. _Okay, Syd. Whoever it was that took you, took you because they must have thought you were SH. If I keep up the facade, they might torture me or something. If I tell them I'm not him, that I'm just some college girl, they might kill me._

_What lovely options I've got._

The door fully opened and the man she'd met in the forensics lab walked in.

"You?" Sydney-as-Sherlock asked. The man nodded.

"Name's Professor Coaster. You're Sherlock Holmes, ain't you?" Sydney-as-Sherlock nodded.

"Yes. Why did you feel the need to kidnap me?" Sydney-as-Sherlock asked the professor. Professor Coaster smirked.

"'Cause you were meddling. If you weren't on the case, I might actually get things done."

"So, you were the one that murdered the student?" Professor Coaster shook his head.

"No, that was someone else. But, I provided the blood bag."

"Right. And you lied about it when I met you. You said it was type A. But Baker's blood type is O. Right then, I knew you were involved."

"But you don't know who else is, do you?"

"I would care to know. There's not been much in the way of a list of suspects." _Okay, he doesn't seem to suspect anything. Just got to keep stalling..._

"Well, I've made a 'friend' lately. One who says'll fix all my problems. Especially with Baker." Sydney-as-Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"So you do have a grudge against him?"

"Yes. One that goes back years and years. He stole my dream girl." Sydney thought back to Professor Baker. She remembered he'd been married for several years. "It was the winter dance. We were going to go as dates. I was going to tell her I loved her that night. But then, she met him. She immediately was drawn to him. She basically abandoned me for him. I hate him for it."

"So, you've held your jealousy for years, harboring it until the right opportunity came to take revenge?" Syndey-as-Sherlock inquired. Professor Coaster nodded.

"That's it. Though, I was going to let go of it... until Baker was hired here. Then it all came flooding back. I hate the man. So much. I want to see him suffer."

"So you had an innocent boy killed for your own designs?" Coaster laughed.

"Hardly innocent. The kid was an arse. To just about all of Baker's students. Eventually, the kid got round to insulting Baker himself. While I like anyone who doesn't like Baker, I had to use him to put Baker in suspicion."

"You had to? Did you want to?" Coaster went silent for a while. He stared at his captive with a look that slowly evolved into one of great remorse.

"...No," he said finally. "I didn't want to. But I needed to. I had to find some way of framing Baker. So, my friend helped me out..."

"By committing a crime you couldn't bring yourself to. You couldn't possibly have done so. You can't bring yourself to murder someone. Not even Baker."

"How do you know that? You don't know what lengths I'd go to to get what I want!" Coaster yelled, looking ready to strangle who he thought was Sherlock.

"Enough. No need to explode on our _guest_ like that. I haven't had a turn yet," a deep foreign-sounding voice came from the other side of the door, making Coaster stop dead in his tracks. Sydney did not like the sound of that voice one bit. Once the man entered the room, she tried as hard as she could to resist physically reacting. Whoever this man was, he scared her.

* * *

><p>"Where is she?" Sherlock asked, clearly annoyed. The other students were milling around waiting for Sydney to come back out from the dressing room backstage, but she hadn't returned. It'd already been 20 minutes.<p>

"Maybe she had to use the loo?" one student offered. Professor Baker shrugged.

"Well, if that's the case, Analise, would you mine checking in on her? Make sure she's alright?" he asked. The deep brunette nodded her head.

"Sure thing, professor." She then walked over towards backstage. Sherlock took a seat in the audience, slumping in impatience.

"Something's wrong. She wouldn't take this long, knowing I wanted her help. She doesn't seem the type to be nervous about something as superficial as a costume," Sherlock noted. The professor nodded.

"You're right. This is a bit unlike her. Though, maybe she's gotten nervous because you're here?" he suggested. Sherlock shook his head.

"No, we already met yesterday. She wasn't awestruck then, so I doubt she would be today..." At that moment, Analise came bounding back to everyone else.

"Sydney's not backstage! Or at the loo! She's gone!"

* * *

><p>"Oh, sorry Jim," Coaster said, calming down from his fit of rage.<p>

_Jim? Wait a second... this man... It's him. The fan._

"No trouble at all, professor. I only want him to be unharmed. By you, anyway," Jim said. Not very reassuring to Sydney. "Hello, Sherlock. It's been too long."

"I'd say not long enough, Moriarty," Sydney-as-Sherlock replied, trying extra hard to imitate Sherlock's voice. Moriarty smiled.

"Admit it, you missed me."

"Wrong. I don't miss you at all. Your game nearly cost me my life and John's."

"_Our_ game, you mean," Moriarty was quick to correct. "And, come on. We both know you enjoyed every second of it. Finally, someone on your level."

"Stop it. If you're trying to convince me we're one and the same, you're dead wrong." Sydney-as-Sherlock glowered at her captor. Moriarty stopped smiling. He turned to Coaster.

"You may leave us. Go keep watch out front for anyone who might disturb us," he ordered, and the jilted professor left, closing the door behind him. "So, now, it's just you and me."

"How quaint." Moriarty chuckled.

"Indeed. Kind of fun having you all to myself for once. No one to get in our way," Moriarty said with a smirk.

"Our way?" the captive asked, raising an eyebrow again.

"Think about it. The World's Only Consulting Detective. The World's Only Consulting Criminal. Two great minds. Think of the possibilities! We could easily take the world by storm! With our brilliance put together, we could-" Moriarty began. Sydney-as-Sherlock interrupted him.

"If you think for one second that I would ever join you in anything, you truly must be psychotic." Moriarty's expression changed instantly to one of wistful thinking to one of near-unbridled rage.

"I'm NOT a psychopath! You aren't, so how could I be?" he screamed in her face.

"You kill innocents just to get my attention. That's pretty psychopathic, I'd think." _Good. I've found a weakness. Hopefully, he won't tear my face off for it._ Moriarty took several deep breaths, stepping back a bit, trying to calm himself. He then started laughing manaically.

"Got me there. Goes to show you really do care, don't you?" he goaded her. Sydney-as-Sherlock kept up her stoic look.

"Why am I here?" Moriarty hummed while looking up at the ceiling. He then looked back at his captive.

"I wanted to have a tea party with you. Thought we might go for scones later," he shrugged. Sydney-as-Sherlock scoffed.

"Don't make me laugh."

"Oh, I try so hard to, though!" Moriarty argued in a sing-songy tone.

"Why am I here?" Sydney-as-Sherlock repeated, a little more insistently this time, hoping to get across that she didn't want him dodging the question again. Moriarty started walking close to her. Examining her face, it seemed. _Crap. If he figures out I'm not really Sherlock... I'm as good as dead._

"If you really must know... I missed you. Dearly. Deeply..." Moriarty said, as he reached a hand to her face. Not having any other way to react, Sydney attempted to bite it. Moriarty pulled it back a second before she could, however, and looked a bit shocked. "My, my, aren't we a bit ornery today? Perhaps that might be... remedied." He then placed his hand on her jaw, positioning his fingers behind her ear.

And kissed her.

Sydney was shocked. Revolted. Disgusted. She then decided to bite him on the lip for it. Moriarty pulled back in pain.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, clutching his mouth. Sydney used this opportunity to injure him further. With her left leg she kicked him in the shin. He lurched forward as a result. Then, using her right knee, she hit him right in the crotch. He squealed and fell over. As he writhed in pain on the floor, Sydney used this opportunity to shimmy out of her bindings. She managed to, without her wig falling off, miraculously, and bolted for the door...

Which was locked.

A deep laugh resonated behind her, as a loud click sounded.

"Nice try," Moriarty said, pointing a handgun at Sydney's head. "My turn."


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N:** The Sherlock Holmes series belongs to ACD. Sherlock series belongs to Moffat and Gatiss. All original characters and story belong to me.

Sherlock rushed backstage while thumbing out a text on his phone. He threw open the curtain. Just as the student Analise had said, there was no sign of Sydney. The only proof she was ever there were her clothes she was wearing before and the open makeup containers.

_Pageant has disappeared. Keep a look-out for her. She's dressed as me. No, not my idea._

_SH_

* * *

><p>"You really thought I'd just leave the door open for you?" Moriarty asked, still holding the gun steadily, pointed at Sydney's head.<p>

Sydney stared straight into the barrel with a cold, steely glare... though she was truthfully scared out of her mind. She had to fake it, though, to keep up the facade.

"You never were one for the obvious. Still felt I should test the theory, though," Sydney said, still imitating Sherlock. Moriarty smiled.

"Indeed. Well, this really has been fun. I'd hate for it to end so suddenly." An idea formed in Sydney's head.

_Call me crazy, but I hope to high heaven that this works._

"As would I... _Jim_," Sydney-as-Sherlock said. Jim's face turned thoughtful.

"Would you? Really?" Sydney nodded.

"I would. You've been the only person to really challenge me. The only man whose cleverness nearly reaches my own. I admit: You're brilliant. A different kind of brilliance than my own, but still brilliant nonetheless." Jim started to lower the gun. _My God, this is actually working?_ "I'd hate to lose such a mind."

"As would I," Jim agreed, turning his back to Sydney. "However, you seem to have things a little twisted about. You must think this well-deserved but ill-timed flattery will gain you the upper hand. Well, you're wrong. I have you under my absolute control." Sydney saw this as her chance.

"We'll see who controls whom!" she shouted, still managing Sherlock's voice, and ran up and tackled Moriarty to the floor, making him drop the gun. The two struggled for a while, each trying to grab the handgun before the other. Sydney tried her hardest to keep Moriarty on the ground, practically pinning him. In shifting around, however, Jim suddenly stopped with a confused look.

"Now wait a second. What happened to your-" he started, but didn't finish due to Sydney clocking him over the head with the butt of the handgun, knocking him out cold.

"Never. Doing. That. _Again_," she declared in her own voice. She sighed and quickly went over to the door. _Okay, I've seen this done in films... Here's hoping I don't end up shooting myself..._ She aimed the gun at the door handle...

She fired.

The door handle broke from the shot.

_Oh, thank God._ As she reached for the door, however, she stopped, turning to the unconcsious form of Moriarty. _No way I'm just leaving him here... There is still the rope..._

* * *

><p>"Is there another way into backstage from here?" Sherlock asked Professor Baker. He nodded.<p>

"Yeah, just on the other side of the stage is the cast and crew entrance. Mostly used for moving sets."

"Well, only minutes ago, it must have been used to move Sydney Pageant. Whoever did so probably thought it was me, seeing as how she was in full costume when taken, as evidenced by her own clothing being left here and the open makeup. I don't want anyone leaving this theatre. For your own safety," Sherlock ordered. The professor nodded and had the students sit in the audience seats while Sherlock went to investigate the exit. He sent another text to Lestrade.

_Kidnapper took alternate entrance/exit from theatre. Don't let anyone on or off campus._

_SH_

* * *

><p><em>Okay, Sydney, on a list of bad desicions you've made today, this may be the worst offender,<em> Sydney thought as she dragged the madman's unconcsious form as she escaped. Tucking him under her right arm, grasping onto the rope to keep her grip, she held the handgun in her dominant left hand, holding the high hope that she wouldn't have to actually fire it again.

Moriarty started to stir under her grip and began to mumble. Sydney quickly put a stop to that by hitting him in the head again.

"Not now, Jimmy. Can't have you up and about right now," she whispered, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Her brow started to sweat under the dark wig. The large coat and scarf didn't help matters much either. Still, she kept moving forward through the halls.

Moriarty stirred again a few minutes later. Again, his head was met with a blow from the butt of the gun.

_If this were a comedy, that'd probably be the running gag of this schtick._

* * *

><p><em>No sign of her yet. Will keep you posted. STAY PUT. G. Lestrade<em>

Sherlock sighed in frustration. He hated having to be cooped up in the auditorium. He'd already paced the entire length of it fifteen times. However, if Sydney had been mistaken for him, it might put her in less danger if he were to stay hidden, Lestrade had told him. Still, Sherlock wished he could be out trying to find whoever took her instead of leaving it up to the idiot squad that was Scotland Yard.

It certainly didn't help him that he was stuck with a room full of teenagers that were practically enamoured by his very presence and _wouldn't stop asking questions that had nothing to do with their current situation_. He needed to concentrate on why he could have been potentially kidnapped, who knew he'd gone into the theatre in the first place, and what that one science professor who lied had anything to do with this. These kids were _not_ helping _in the least_.

"Would you lot stop badgering me and let me THINK!" Sherlock finally yelled, fed up with all the trivial inquiries. The students promptly shut up and sat back down, looking rather upset. Sherlock took notice. "Look, I'm sorry I've upset you, but right now is most certainly no time for a question-and-answer panel. I need to concentrate if we're going to save Sydney." The kids understood and let him be.

* * *

><p><em>Please let that be the exit and not a room full of gun-toting mooks, please let that be the exit and not a room full of gun-toting mooks, <em>please_ let that be the exit and not a room full of gun-toting mooks_ Sydney thought to herself as she approached a set of double doors with light pouring through the windows. She got over to them as fast as she could dragging the mass that was the out-cold Moriarty through the hall. Once she opened the door, she found that she was in a familiar place...

"I'm... still on campus? Really?" Sydney huffed as she realised that she was being held in the old English wing that was cleaned out and ready for demolishing next week. _Of course, that's where they'd put me. Bloody hell._

She then thought of where she was in relation to the auditorium. Not too terribly far, but it might take a bit longer with the not-quite-dead weight she had to pull along behind her. She shifted his weight under her arm so as to keep a grip on him. Her own blonde hair was starting to show under her wig, but that didn't matter. She had to get this idiot to Sherlock. Madman in hand, gun in the other, she shuffled off toward the theatre.

She finally arrived roughly ten minutes later, more or less. However, the door was shut. Her hands had grown weak and sweaty under her gloves from carrying the gun and Moriarty. She wouldn't have the grip to open it. At the absolute point of frustration and rage, Sydney dropped the gun next to her, picked up Moriarty with both hands, pointing his head toward the door, and...

* * *

><p><em>Bam. BAM. BAMM!<em> The door to the theatre swung open. The kids started to yell and jump out of their seats. Sherlock dashed towards the door to fight off the intruder... when they all saw a rather disheveled looking Sydney Pageant. Her wig was askew, her scarf was coming undone. One shoulder of the coat was starting to fall off, and her shirt was untucked on one side. She was extremely out of breath, sweating as well.

"I brought you your fan..." she wheezed. "Tied up in a ribbon... Happy Christmas." She then dropped her improvised battering ram and nearly dropped herself if Sherlock hadn't caught her. He looked at the person she'd dragged with her...

_Found Sydney. And she found HIM. Come to the theatre AT ONCE. SH_


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Early upload today, since I won't be getting to my computer tomorrow. Enjoy the final chapter of The Adventure of Sydney Pageant! Please, feel free to review. The Sherlock Holmes series belongs to ACD. Sherlock series belongs to Moffat and Gatiss. All original characters and story belong to me.

* * *

><p>Sydney shivered a bit from shock, huddling further into the traffic cone orange blanket the police gave her. She sat on the edge of the back of the ambulance just after the doctor treated her for extreme fatigue. Her mind was still reeling from what she had done. She actually was kidnapped and kidnapped her kidnapper. Now <em>that<em> was something for the headlines. Or the internet.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the smell of cocoa. A pale hand handed her a mug of hot chocolate.

"With all the jittering you're doing now, I didn't take you for a coffee drinker," Sherlock said as she took the mug from him. She nodded her thanks and sipped heartily.

"You alright?" John asked her. Sydney nodded again, her voice still paralyzed from what had happened. She sipped the hot drink once again, feeling the soothing liquid on her petrified throat. She exhaled slowly, finally able to breathe properly after her little adventure. She then looked to the two men with an inquiring look. She wanted to ask them something, but couldn't make out what she wanted to. Thankfully, Sherlock could tell what she wanted to know.

"Yes, that was really him. No, he won't be caught for long. He probably has fifty Swiss Bank Accounts reserved just for bail. I don't think he'll even have a chance to sit down in court before he's released. And then he'll disappear again... until he gets bored, anyway," Sherlock said. Sydney nodded in grim understanding and gulped her cocoa. Her fingers twitched a bit around the mug in frustration. She caught him, but he's slipped away. She hoped to high heaven that she wouldn't see him again.

"So, what're you going to do now? You going to go back to classes?" John asked her. Sydney thought for a second. Finally, words were able to escape her mouth.

"I'm going home. I need a holiday. I can't stay on campus. Can't focus. Can't... get what happened out of my head," she explained. "I need rest. I need... peace." John understood what she meant.

"That's probably the best idea," he said. Sydney stared at her drink. "Anything you want us to do for you while we're here?" John offered. Sydney shook her head slightly.

"All I want is one piece of good news for the day," she confessed. Sherlock smirked at that.

"Then I know just the thing. Wait here," said he, and he twirled on his heels, coat swooshing behind him, and walked briskly out further onto campus. John shrugged at Sydney when she looked at him confused.

"He's always like that," he explained. A few minutes later, Sherlock returned, putting his phone into his pocket, smirking still.

"Your present will arrive shortly," he said.

"Present?" Sydney repeated. Just then, a black compact car arrived on the scene. Out from it came a tall man with dark auburn-ish hair in a three-piece suit, carrying an umbrella, a large pad of paper and a sitting stool. Behind his ear was a pencil. The man walked up in front of Sydney, put the stool down before him and handed the drawing pad and pencil in her direction. Sherlock took the now empty mug from Sydney and she took up the pad and pencil. The man then sat on the stool, turned to his right, and put the umbrella before him, clutching it in his hands, right over left. Sydney's eyes widened.

_Sitting bolt upright. Staring ahead, barely moving... The man on the bench with the brolly._

"Is this about how I was, Miss Pageant?" the man asked with a polite air to his voice. Sydney stared at him.

"Yes... how... did you know my name?" she asked. The man just looked over to her with a knowing glance.

"I know a great deal on many things. And I know I must apologise. I am the culprit as to your ruined artwork," the man confessed. Sydney looked at him with frustration, about to say something in anger. But the man continued. "I understand that you are rather upset with me. Allow me to explain myself: As you may have learned later, I am Sherlock's brother, Mycroft. I have a position in the Government, so any chance my identity could be compromised must be avoided at all costs. I knew that you were drawing me, and as soon as I saw the picture, I was a bit disheartened that I must defile such a marvelous piece of artwork. But, I cannot allow for anyone to recognise me, so I had no choice." Sydney sighed. She did remember Sherlock noticing that she'd drawn his brother. He must have said something to him about it.

"So... what are you doing here?" Sydney asked. Mycroft gently smiled.

"To apologise, and to offer a gift of apology. My brother trusts you, so I should as well. While you're here idling away time until you get picked up, you have my full permission and encouragement to draw me again."

"...You mean it?"

"Yes. However, you must not publish this drawing anywhere. You may show it to a few people in person, but it must never leave the pad. No photographs of it either. You must keep it in a safe place. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Sydney replied and opened up the pad. Mycroft resumed the position he had the previous day, and Sydney began to sketch.

* * *

><p>"You're really going?" Zoey asked, disheartened that her one art friend was going away on holiday.<p>

"Yes. But it's only for a fortnight."

"A fortwhat?" Sydney giggled.

"Two weeks," she translated.

"Oh," Zoey said.

"You better text me when you get bored, alright?" Olivia told Sydney, pointing at her. Sydney smiled.

"Will do, Liv. And I'm trusting you to keep an eye out on this one." Sydney pointed to Zoey with her thumb. Olivia crossed her arms.

"Oh, no. I'm no babysitter. And I'm transferring out to Edinburgh next year, remember? I won't be able to watch her," Olivia reminded her.

"Who says I need watching? I'm fine. I'll manage," Zoey said indignantly.

"I just want to make sure you're okay here in London, that's all." Zoey smiled.

"Relax. I'll be okay. I know my way around," Zoey assured Sydney. Olivia looked at her watch.

"Oh, god. I gotta get going. I've got Bio in ten. Give me a ring when you can, Syd!" Olivia ordered as she hugged her friend tightly. Sydney squeezed back.

"Sure. Same goes for you. Bye!" Sydney called as Olivia rushed off to the science building. Both Sydney and Zoey waved behind her. Sydney then sighed. "Always rushing about."

"Yeah. I read that Sherlock guy rushes around, too," Zoey remarked. Sydney then looked up as if she'd had an epiphany. She took Zoey's shoulders, holding her at arms length, and stared down into her shorter friend's eyes.

"Zoey. Listen to me carefully. Watch out for Sherlock Holmes. I don't mean that in a bad way, but once he finds his way into your life, you're going to have a hard time getting out of his." Zoey nodded.

"Got it. What do you mean by that, though?" Zoey asked. Sydney let go of her shoulders and gave her a knowing smile. She then pulled Zoey into a hug.

"Take care of yourself, alright?" she said. Zoey nodded into her shoulder.

"Will do!" she said as they let go of each other. The two then said their goodbyes and Zoey headed off to class while Syd waited in the parking lot for her ride home. As she waited, Sydney checked her phone for any new texts. Just then, her phone beeped. The screen indicated that she had a new text. The notice was accompanied by a photograph of a smirking Sherlock Holmes.

_Lestrade wants to know if you want to be a sketch artist for them part-time. It'll count toward credit for your major, he says. SH_

Sydney opened up her phone to reply when a second text came in.

_John also asks if you want to draw for us, too. Something to 'brighten up my boring blog' he says. SH_

Sydney pondered that offer a moment when a third text came in.

_John wants me to apologise for calling his blog boring. SH_

Sydney laughed and replied.

_Tell the DI I'll apply when I'm off holiday. And tell John I'd be happy to. Could be fun to see my stuff with your cases. What sort of artwork were you thinking? SP_

* * *

><p><strong>Credits:<strong>

"Sherlock" is produced by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss

Based on the original stories of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Aired through BBC One

"The Adventure of Sydney Pageant" was written by pkmndaisuki of

The story and characters were created by pkmndaisuki

Sydney Pageant was based on Sidney Paget, the artist for the original Sherlock Holmes stories during their publication in _The Strand_ magazine

The character of Zoey McCarron was created by R. K. Sprague of (used with permission)


End file.
